Promise
by Eveilae
Summary: It's happening again. Four wolves in search of Paradise, but this time, someone's watching them, studying them . . .
1. Trying

**Promise

* * *

**

Alair walks past the food stands on the busy street. Wasn't New York supposed to be a wondrous city? Sure there were tall buildings, but that was a security issue, wasn't it? Replacing their lack of size in their-

"Alair!" Chal calls out, running ahead of the pack, sniffing and staring at everything excitingly, as if he expects to forget it all in a moment. Annoyingly, he keeps calling out to Alair. Why didn't he ask _Calhoun_ to see every new little thing? Alair knows the answer, even before completing the question in his head.

Chal was afraid that Calhoun would blow him off, or dismiss him entirely. Chal is clingy, and takes rejection especially hard. And so Alair trots after the younger one languidly. "What is it _this time_?"

"Look at this!" He points to the ripped bright orange flags that are hanging from the trees in the little bit of nature there is inside this metal jungle. Alair finds that his interest peaks at the sight of this entirely man-made item in the middle of the natural world. That seems just like this city. This is—was—the city of control. They control nature to the point there are only restricted little patches of nature in the whole place—not counting the carefully planned park in the center.

Even at the end of the world, people still crowd around the streets, perhaps in a sad attempt to give meaning to meaningless lives. Things are falling apart around them, and they walk around like robots.

There's one that catches his eye. She's wearing a large bulky sweater and some jeans. She's not really much too look at but . . . she smells odd. Alair leaves Chal lingering on the edge of the park, and follows her carefully. He doesn't want her to think he's following her—even if he is.

"Alair?" Like always, Keane has managed to sneak up on Alair without him noticing. He jumps in surprise, abruptly losing concentration about the girl with the queer scent in his irritation.

"Damn it, Keane, don't _do_ that!" He brushes some hair back from his forehead—shit, the girl. He spins around and—

"Keane, you giant piece of crap!" He turns only momentarily to glare at Keane, before running off in the direction she'd gone in to see if he can find her again. Her scent was analogous enough to blend in with that of the other humans quite easily. But, yes, he was convinced. There it was, that tangy smell that tickled his nostrils deliciously.

Keane shakes his head despairingly. Alair never learns. Once again he's going to get shot down by some girl. In a way, he's as needy as Chal. But he can solve his own issues all by himself. Padding back to where Calhoun has joined up with Chal in the park, he decides to meet up with Alair later.

* * *

She sits down on the sidewalk, looking both ways before opening her bag. She rifles through her things, making sure nothing was slipped out as she walked. Finally, satisfied all is in order, she takes out an apple and takes a bite. Oh, what a taste these things have, she thinks, pleased. She hasn't treated herself with an apple in months. 

"Hey." She spins around, nearly dropping her precious apple as she does so. She hadn't heard this guy approach. In fact, she had been certain she was alone.

"Who are you?" She moves her empty hand towards her back pocket, where she keeps her pocketknife. Maybe he needs directions, or the time. She almost laughs at her own reasoning. She really just wants to believe things haven't changed, doesn't she? No one has asked her for the time or direction in years.

He looks tall, which isn't a surprise, seeing as how she's sitting down. He looks down at her with soft brown eyes and auburn tresses falling gently over those eyes. Damn it, and her soft spot for nice eyes. He tries to look casual, and near succeeds. But she's not _stupid_. No one's casual anymore. Not casual enough to come up to a complete strange on an empty street to make friends. Damn, that didn't happen even when she was young.

"Me? I'm Alair. And you are—?" Why is he acting like this? She takes an angry bite at her apple before stuffing it in her bag once again, regretfully. It's going to taste funny, and that pisses her off. Do these things happen on purpose, just to ruin every little pleasure she earns? Good green apples are expensive. Brown green apples taste soft. Disgusting. She pushes the bag's strap over her shoulder, and stands up.

Make yourself tall, Liam. Make yourself tall. But he's still taller, and this annoys her. "I'm asking you to leave," she hisses at him, her fingers now wrapped eagerly around the knife. Just try, she thinks to herself, just try.

"Look," he says, his voice light and casual, "I'm not doing any harm, right?" He takes a step closer, and she moves into action. Springing the knife from her back pocket, she launches upon him, the knife out. She's not scared of hurting this man, and he doesn't look so tough.

He grips her hands inches away from his chest, and he stares at her in surprise. How does such a little woman do such a thing? She might have _killed_ him, if he had been human. What gave her that sort of desperation? He hadn't _acted_ like some perv, out to rape her, had he?

She drops the knife in her surprise, and jumps back, trying to pull her hand away from his savagely. No! He's been too fast, and now he had a grip on her. She takes her other hand, and runs her long nails down his face. "Let, _go_ of me!"

He winces at he new scratches on his face, but he doesn't let go. "Calm down!" He takes her other hand, and pulls her close, so that he can whisper to her. "Stop it, right now! I'm not going to hurt you!" She doesn't seem to pay him any mind at all, and struggles all the harder.

He doesn't want to do this, but—he lets go of her momentarily to punch her, not as hard as he can, but enough to quiet her. Shit, now she _definitely_ won't want anything to do with him.

And he realizes that besides being absolutely silent, she's limp in his hold. Damn it all to hell! He knocked her out. And he has no idea where she lives. And when she wakes up, she's going to think he raped her. He puts her down gentle, and picks up her bag. Maybe she has her address written somewhere?

He peeks into it, sees a book and a notebook. Slipping out the notebook, gently, he sees it's nearly falling apart. Maybe he can get her a newer one to make up for the punch, and this intrusion. He opens it up and realizes it's a sketchbook. Oh. He glances through it, interested. He's never had much of a calling for art. He's never really seen a wolf with a love for human art, really. But even one such as he can see she's rather good. Mostly, she draws animals, most those you would see in a city such as this. But there are one or two that seem out of place in the notebook.

But before Alair can see more of the drawings, he closes it with some finality. He's not going to find her address in there, and he doesn't want to make matters worse. So where could he possibly take her? He slides her bag up his arm and picks her up swiftly. Okay, Keane will know. Or, better yet, he shouldn't. Calhoun will get all up in his face, asking why he would dare mix a human with four wolves.

Rules _that_ out.

There has _got_ to be an abandoned house or apartment somewhere in this town. He can sniff out the worst part of the city, and find somewhere to keep her in the meantime. Onward.

* * *

She opens her eyes and—shit, where is she? Where's that asshole that punched her? She glances around to see that she's lying in a rather musty room. It doesn't look very clean. The paint is chipping, and the wooden floor is freezing as she realizes when she steps off the blanket she was lying on. That bastard even took her shoes. He had the decency to not lay her on the cold floor, but he took her shoes. Chivalry is _dead_. 

She pads into the next room, hoping to spot her things, somewhere. Well, she does, but she finds the guy lying next to it.

"You fucking-" she picks up her bag, and kicks him hard in the stomach. His painful _oof_ is music to her ears. "Never-" She swings her bag at him with her all her strength—which isn't much. "-touch me-" She goes to kick him again, but he grabs her foot and pulls it out from under her. She lands on her ass with a loud grunt.

"I only hurt you because you were trying to _kill_ me!" He yells, holding his stomach while glancing at her with an eyebrow carefully raised.

"Only because you were trying to _rape_ me," she responds firmly, still glaring at him as he sits up, still holding his stomach. She feels a cool kind of satisfaction at the sight.

"I was doing _no such thing_!" he cries, insulted that she would even _think_ such a thing of him. And worse, in truth, he knows he's only partially paying attention to her accusations. Her scent is almost overpowering. What _is_ it about her? She almost smells like a human, but also almost like Keane, but yet something else entirely.

"Fine," she admits, finally, although she still sounds doubtful.

He remembers his 'gift' of sorts. "Oh!" he cries, scrambling towards the plastic bag near the door. She watches him with careful eyes as he slips something out of the bag, and slides it across the floor at her. "To make up for the whole punching thing."

It's a sketchbook. She gazes at it in complete shock. She hasn't had a new sketchbook in _ages_. But how did he know— "You looked in my bag!" she says accusingly, glancing up at him with a little less irritation than before.

He runs a hand through his hair, and grins sheepishly. "I was looking for your address . . . so I could take you home." Is it just him, or does she not seem as angry anymore?

"Well, then, I can walk myself home now." She stands up, and brushes herself off. "Where are my shoes?" she asks, looking up at him with no emotion at all.

"By the door," he answers offhand. "But, wait!" he moves to grab her arm, but thinks better of it. "I could walk you home," he suggests meekly.

"Right. Because I really want _you_ to know where I live." She strides over to her shoes, slipping them on. "Thank you for the book. It's interesting how you found this in Shop Rite." Alair is absolutely confused by his words, until he realizes she assumes he bought the book in the store labeled on the bag.

Right, like he would ever let money pass from his hand to a human's. "Yeah, well." His hand falls from his hair, and he looks up at her. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to-"

"I'm fine. I managed to get myself home, every other day before you came into my life; I can walk home every day from now on." It's a sort of subtle—and final—goodbye, isn't it? Without another word she opens the door, and steps out. Turning her head slightly to gaze at him one last time, she pauses. He looks sort of . . . lost. Maybe it won't hurt her that much to let him tag along for a little while.

"Come along. I don't know where I am, anyway. Just take me to where you found me, and we'll part from there." The stranger's eyebrows shoot up, but a grin graces his face anyway. He bounds over to her and steps out the door next to her. He lets out a small chuckle before running down the stairs, leaving the door wide open.

"What about the door?" Liam asks as she hurriedly follows him down.

Another laugh. "It's not _my _place."


	2. Sleeping

**-gasp- a possible kibaxtsume twist! Sorry about the shorty chapter that took me _forever_ to write.

* * *

**

Where _is_ that stupid, fat mutt? Calhoun wonders, lounging about on a bench while Chal chases a few squirrels, and Keane paces back and forth impatiently. Keane doesn't waste _any_ time, if he can help it. In fact, he would leave without Alair if Amaris weren't so far away he couldn't sense her. Keane isn't sure whether to admire Keane determination, or be annoyed by his near-sightedness.

"I'm assuming we're staying here tonight," Calhoun tells Keane, not even glancing at him. He leans his head back, and closes his eyes gently. He knows what his reaction will be; he doesn't really need to see it with his own eyes. And he _is_ rather tired.

"Another night in this city?" Calhoun jumps, and his eyes pop open. Keane's face is only several inches away from his, and, not for the first time, Calhoun misses personal space. He pushes Keane away-gently-and sits up again. The one would never be able to copperhead the concept of personal space, would he?

"Yes. You don't happen to see Alair around anywhere, do you?" Keane shrugs, and looks up at the horizon, as if this topic has ceased to interest him. "Yeah, that's what I thought." It's getting dark. They should find somewhere to safely rest for the night.

"Is he still after that girl?" Keane sits down in front of the bench, and sighs. "Can't he stop and concentrate on Paradise for a minute, perhaps?" Calhoun laughs, and closes his eyes again. And then again, sometimes that Keane is just like him.

"Not likely. Alair acts like every female is in heat." They both chuckle, slightly, knowing that Calhoun's blunt description isn't far off from the truth. Keane watches Chal place his front paws on a tree's truck, barking up at the creatures in the tree. Chal is so carefree, young, and restless. Has it been his naiveté that has gotten him this far?

And how much further will it take him? How much longer can any of them stand this? After losing Amaris so suddenly, after only enjoying her company for such a short time . . . can they stand not having that kind of joy in their lives again?

What if they can never get Amaris back from the noble that's taken her away?

"We'll find her again, Keane. You know that better than anyone." Keane turns to look at Calhoun, but he's still lying on his back with his eyes closed. How can Calhoun know _just_ want he's thinking? It's comforting, in a way. In another way, its very disconcerting. The only person to ever do that was Amaris.

"Yeah," Keane answers, leaning onto the bench, his brown mane of hair a mere five inches from Calhoun's face. "We will."

Calhoun grunts as Keane's infuriatingly luscious scent flutters past his nose for a moment. So much for personal space. Calhoun's already mourning for it.

* * *

The guy keeps running ahead of her, and back, and ahead again. She's got major cramps, just running regularly, without going back and forth. How does he do it? She normally would stop, but she doesn't want him to think she's some sort of weakling. She's not. Don't slow down, Liam, she scolds herself as her legs scream in pain. Shit, he's running back to her again.

"Hey, are we nearby the place yet?" He's bounding right beside her now, and she doesn't even want to turn her head to look at him. She's afraid she'll fall down with exhaustion just from departing even a tiny bit from the steady beat her legs are using. "Hey, are you okay, you look a little beat. Want to stop?"

"I thought you would . . ." she stops and plops down suddenly, taking in deep breathes of air. " . . .never ask." She pulls her knees up and hugs them to her chest, resting her head on them gently. She's exhausted, and not even mostly from the run. She had enjoyed the short bit of rest she'd received from that punch, actually.

"If you needed to stop, you just should have asked." He's standing less than a foot away from her, but she doesn't care anymore. She just wants to roll over and sleep. She ignores him, and hums a little tune quietly. "Are you okay?" He asks, his voice concerned. He bends over, and looks up at her face.

"I'm fine," she grunts, pushing him blindly away with one hand. "I want to take a nap, is all."

"I can find you somewhere to sleep, if you like, easy." His words are convincing and lulling. She wants to listen to him and let him lead her to peacefulness. But . . . there's always a but for Liam. Her late father's paranoia had irreverently been passed down to her. She had found that she cannot trust anyone, especially a stranger she has just met.

"Why are you helping me?" She pushes herself up from the semi-comfortable position she has found, and stands up straight. Keep awake, Liam, she thinks. She never goes to sleep unless she is fully intending to. And at the moment, she would rather hear his answer.

"Why?" He seems to stop and think about it for a second. Rubbing his head, he _hmm_s quietly. Then, he looks back at me. "I don't know why, exactly. You just . . . seem different, I suppose." That isn't a satisfactory answer, and he knows it. But what else can he do?

"I _can_ find you somewhere to rest, really." Why is he so concerned? But—she is tired. No, correction, she's exhausted. The last few nights have been hectic for her, with all the searching, and corpses and lies. It's a difficult job sorting through all the garbage dead people leave behind, especially when the garbage isn't tangible. She could do with some rest. Maybe he can knock her out again.

"Fine, I accept," she concedes, and stands up. "Lead me to another abandoned apartment, if you will."

Alair is surprised at her sudden willingness to follow him. He had really expected more of a fight. But she _does_ look like she use some time off from reality. He moves to take her hand, but she pulls away just in time for his hand to miss her. Giving him the evil eye, she says, "Just because I'm letting you do this, doesn't mean I trust you. Not really." Alair would laugh if her expression weren't so serious.

She really is amusing. How can she say she doesn't trust him? She's allowing him to take her somewhere where she can sleep. And then, most likely, she'll sleep. With him in the room. She trusts him more than she says, apparently.

They walk in silence; him concentrated on sniffing out an appropriate resting place, and her thoughtful.

In fact, her mind is buzzing with arguments. The Counsel of Liam has gathered, and they are all in conflict. _Why is he helping you_, one cries loudly. _Why is he _following_ you_, another one corrects smugly. _Why is he so _pretty! The rest yell in response. A meek quiet one in the corner nods enthusiastically. _He _is_ rather pretty, isn't he_?

_No, no, **no**! This isn't the train of thought I should be having, goddamn it! _she thinks angrily. She crosses her arms as she follows the sniffing man. Which reminds her . . .

"What's your name?"

He stops in surprise, and turns to her. "Alair," he replies simply. Is he waiting . . .? He should turn around and go back to sniffing. Instead he's staring at her. _Stop it_, she wants to cry.

She doesn't want to humble herself in such a way, so instead she frowns, and snaps, "What?"

"Nothing," he mutters, and turns around again. _Oh_, she realizes with a shock, as she understands what he wanted her to say. But it'll be awkward if she slips it in now . . . won't it? _Oh, to hell with it_, she says.

"Liam," she mutters under her breathe. If he doesn't hear her it's _his_ fault. He does, though, and his head perks up. "Lee anne?" He asks, in a questioning tone, but he doesn't turn around again.

"_Liam_," she intones and enunciates correctly. He looks at her lips and copies the word.

"Liam." She feels like nodding and petting his head as a reward. He looks so pleased when she smiles at him that she wants to take him into her arms and hug him to pieces. Instead she smiles gently.

"Come on." She moves to take his hand, but pulls away at the last moment. What is she _doing_! He's a complete stranger. "Are we there yet?"

He shakes his head, and they continue walking down the street. "There are a lot of people in this part of the city."

"It's New York City. It might as well be called Dense City, even now. In fact, I'm surprised you found that empty apartment to begin with." They walk silently a bit, side by side. The silence isn't thick with tension or unanswered questions. It's a nice, light, comfortable silence. She likes it, and listens to the gentle noises of the city surround her. She's grown so used to the sounds that she mostly ignores them now. If feels nice to enjoy them once again.

"I think I found one." He takes her hands, and she forces herself to let him pull her. She can protect herself if things get rough . . . He rushes towards a tall, brick apartment building, and opens the door—or at least tries. It seems to be locked.

"Er, well, then. There goes that idea. I mean, unless you happen to have a bobby pin or—" She's about pull away from him gently, when he shoves into the door with his shoulder . . . while still holding her hand. She finds herself flying after him, nearly falling in the process. "What the _fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck _are you doi-ahhhh-doing!"

He stops suddenly, which doesn't help matters, and inertia sends her forward away. The fact that he's still holding her hand is the only reason she doesn't fall flat on her face. "Are you okay?" He asks this so kindly, and he sounds so concerned. Liam realizes with a shock that he seems to really care about her well-being. Her life is a hard one, and she has stopped really _expecting_ people to care about her. And to find some stranger that does . . . is disconcerting to say the least, if not completely mind-boggling.

"I'm fine . . . " she replies shakily. She's finally able to pull her hand out of Alair's own. She wriggles around her fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again. By the time she looks up at Alair again, he's halfway up the stairs, staring now at her patiently.

"Are you coming?"

She sighs. _Please_ say it isn't on the top floor. Her eyes are drooping dangerously as she nods, and begins to climb the stairs after him.


	3. Finding

**Promise**

**That sure took a while, didn't it . . .

* * *

**

He has to shove open the door to the apartment as well. Liam finds she's much too tired to protest about all the noise he's making. Someone's going to come and see what's up . . . won't they? Well, that's his problem, not hers. She can always say he drugged her if things get really bad and she can't call up a favor from a few people.

She looks around the apartment with the careful eyes of one who's used to look past the obvious. It seems that the three people who had abandoned the apartment wouldn't be coming back any time soon. The place is empty of any kind of personal items, but sometimes that doesn't mean much. There's a thin layer of dust on the ground before her, which proves so much more than the absence of some things.

As she decides that she will probably be able to rest uninterrupted, she takes couple of tentative steps into the room. Alair pushes past her and surveys the room himself. "You don't mind the floor?" He asks quietly. Liam leans against the wall casually, and covers her mouth in an attempt to cover up a yawn.

"Nah. I just want to _sleep_." She nods towards the open door. "What are you going to do with that?" The lock seems to be broken, and she isn't sure it will even _close_ correctly. Alair walks towards it, and pushes it shut. It bounces back from the frame. He frowns at it, and tries again to the same response. She rolls her eyes gently at him, and picks up a small stool in the corner. As she places it in front of the closed door, Alair looks at her with a gaping open mouth.

She steps back and admires her handiwork. Then she giggles. "All I did was place a stool in front of a door to impede it from opening!" She plops down, right where she stands, and giggles again. Then she lays herself down, ignoring the dust and grime that she knows will be in her pores by the time she awakens. But even as she closes her eyes, she knows she will not sleep.

So she lies there, listening. No noise comes from inside the apartment, but outside she hears yells and the irregular sound of wheels against the uneven streets. She remembers a time when the concrete had been smooth and car wheels had slid on them, one after the one in a never-ending cycle of wheel and stone.

And those memories lead to others. The feeling on sitting in the car, feeling yourself bounce, and the wind from the open window. She remembers sitting there, riding somewhere—anywhere, it doesn't matter—and having a family surround you. They ride in silence, the four of them, with music flowing easily from the speakers. At the time she had been annoyed for some reason or other, but now, she thinks, if she could only turn back time . . .

But life had never been perfect. Sure, maybe the concrete had been smooth, but the poor and hungry had crowded the streets, and those search for the easy way out prowled the avenues. She had wanted to come and study here in New York, she remembers wistfully, and become a movie director. She nearly giggles at the thought. Movie directors aren't exactly doing very well anymore. The only ones buying their videos—legally—are the very rich. No one's very rich anymore.

But that life is gone. It left her on that horrible day, where the world seemed to be coming to a close. If only that had been true. Then she wouldn't be here, living in hell.

She realizes groggily that Alair hasn't moved from his spot against the wall. Liam wriggles around so that she can look towards him, and then she opens her eyes. His eyes meet hers and she finds her heart quickening. What is she, _thirteen_? A guy looks at her and her pulse gets faster? Her words suddenly slur in her mouth? She's so past puberty.

She shoots him a quick smile and closes her eyes again. Now that she knows he's watching her, though, she can't find that calm that she'd been swimming in moments before. All she can think about are those brown eyes locked onto her. Damn, damn, damn. Sleep, Liam. Sleep is nice.

She wonders fleetingly how it would if he suddenly padded over and kissed her throat. Midget Liams immediately begin beating that thought to death, trying to dispel it immediately. Unfortunately, the thought must be a reincarnation of Superman—he _did_ die, right? Liam wonders—and pushes the invading Liams away with an easy swipe.

She curses her own amazing imagination as she can practically _feel_ the breath tickling her skin, soft and—she opens one eye to make sure he's still against the wall and not by her side. He is. Damn, it _was_ her imagination.

Eventually, somehow, somewhere over the rainbow—she manages to fall asleep. Her breathing becomes deep and regular, and Alair feels himself approaching quietly towards her. He's about 99 percent sure that she's sleeping, but that one percent could easily come and bite him in the ass.

He's a wolf and he can sniff her scent even better. It's completely intoxicating, being so close to it. He closes his eyes and lies down on his stomach. His ears are still attentive to any sound, but his nose is on Liam-scent overload.

The noises outside are strange, crowded. Alair wants to open a window and tell them to lower their voices—there's a lady sleeping in here. Lady . . . is she even one? Is she even human, under this female-shaped cast? She acts human, that's for sure. But now that he's so close, he knows that Keane's scent is on her like a thick, heavy musk.

Has she been Keane's mate? He cannot see that proud, white wolf ever taking a human woman, but one never knows . . .there are always exceptions to rules, or else they wouldn't be rules, they would be facts.

And how did she go from being so untrusting, so hateful, to allowing herself to be guarded and protected by him? Had it been her time with him that had weakened her stubbornness? Had she realized he meant no harm since he had not hurt her the first time around?

What is that third unfamiliar smell? It's not human and it's not wolf. It's not Amaris's sweet flowery smell, either. He slides closer to her, and nuzzles her arm softly, to see if she'll awaken. He isn't sure why he's doing this . . . but . . .

She wraps one strong arm around him, nestling closer to his thick brown fur. She moans gently as she presses her face against him, and holds on to him like some sort of teddy bear. He usually doesn't like this sort of thing—it's more of Toboe's specialty, being cute and loving to humans. But he surprises himself by liking it, by snuggling closer to her himself.

Then they're both asleep, their dreams calm and pleasant as their physical bodies feel warm and treasured in each other's arms.

* * *

Calhoun sniffs the air once more, and pads ahead of the other two. "He's nearby," he tells Kean and Chal. The other two are in their human guises so as to not raise suspicions. Two brothers and their dog isn't a very unusual sight to see.

Calhoun leads them to a short building with a large sign on the front. GROCERY, it says, and the three aren't surprised that Alair has led them here. They're about to enter when Alair runs out of the shop, his arms nearly overflowing with meat. He sees them, and yells back at them, "Let's go!" The other three glance back momentarily at the grocery owner who is about to come out with a rather large shotgun, but soon set off after Alair.

They find an empty store every long blocks down, and enter it, Alair and Chal breathing hard. Alair quickly spreads his wears on the ground, looking them over graciously. "Not bad," he mutters to himself.

Calhoun isn't planning on letting him get off that easily. He quickly turns back into a human and cries, "Alair, you idiot!" Then, he hits him over the head with his hand, and waits for a response.

"What?" Alair yells back defensively. "I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Where _were_ you? You just run off, saying something idiotically cryptic about a woman! And then we're forced to _look_ for you!"

"Calhoun," Chal begins waveringly. "It's not that big a deal—"

"It will be if he keeps doing this," Keane interrupts sharply. He leans against on of the nearby walls and stares at Alair. Alair looks up, and his eyes hint at guilt . . . just a bit. "We've got to keep looking for Amaris, or else we'll never find her again. The longer we spend in this city, the farther away she gets from us, and the farther away Paradise becomes."

"I know, but—"

"No!" Keane cries, leaning forward passionately. "You either want to get there, or you don't. There aren't any buts about it."

"Give me a day," Alair pleads. "One day, that's all I ask, then we'll leave, and I'll run my fucking ass off if that's what you want. If that's what's _needed_ to find Amaris."

Keane looks at Calhoun, who glances away and shrugs. He then looks down at Chal, who smiles without mirth, and shrugs as well. Keane gives in.

"Fine. One day. If you're not with us by sundown tomorrow, we're leaving without you." Alair nods thankfully, and the discussion is dropped in exchange for food.

**it's short, I know, I know . . .

* * *

**


End file.
